


Broken Palace

by KannaOphelia



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, good omens all media types
Genre: Amnesia, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon - Good Omens (Book & TV Combination), Explicit Sexual Content, Felching, God Ships Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Heaven is Terrible (Good Omens), M/M, One-Shot, Post-Canon, Prompt Fic, Written for NTA 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:34:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25098487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KannaOphelia/pseuds/KannaOphelia
Summary: Uriel, Prince of Repentance, destined Ruler of Tartarus, known for being pitiless as any demon, moved purposefully through the oldest rooms of Azirapahle's memory. Filled with experiences, with hedonism, with childish delight in the world. A fig, a brass mirror, a cone of wax perfume, a bowl of olives, spidery lace. A thousand objects, condemning him as useless, hedonistic, materialistic, gone native.Unangelic.And Crowley. In every room of Aziraphale's memories, Uriel encountered Crowley, with eyes like yellow moons and a long twisted mouth.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 40
Kudos: 214
Collections: Hurt Omens, Name That Author Round Five: After Dark Redux





	Broken Palace

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Name the Author 5 on the Good Omens Event Server, for the prompt "There is a door that should never be opened. It is open." Expanded a bit from the original 500 word limit.
> 
> This story assumes no body swap as in the book, but Uriel and Gabriel are from the TV series.

> **Whoever keeps his door locked all the time longs for it to be broken down.** ~ Chinese Proverb

Aziraphale had learned about memory palaces in Ancient Rome. He had been nearly four thousand years old, starting to panic with the sense that he was losing some of his precious experiences, and had seized on the technique with all his joy in human invention, and a touch of inhuman magic.

Now, Uriel probing into his mind, he regretted it. Much better to lose his memories than have them rifled through and exposed with unsympathetic hands. Uriel, Prince of Repentance, destined Ruler of Tartarus, known for being pitiless as any demon. He had been nervous in her presence more than once, but he had never really believed she could do harm, not to one of the Host. She was an _angel_ , and the War was long over.

Uriel moved purposefully through the oldest rooms. Filled with experiences, with hedonism, with childish delight in the world. A fig, a brass mirror, a cone of wax perfume, a bowl of olives, spidery lace. A thousand objects, condemning him as useless, hedonistic, materialistic, gone native.

Unangelic.

And Crowley. In every room of Aziraphale's memories, Uriel encountered Crowley, with eyes like yellow moons and a long twisted mouth.

He had brought the figs for Aziraphale to try, delighted in his reflection in the mirror, anointed himself with perfume, popped his olives one by one into his mouth, given the lace with a casual _white is hardly my style._ Every time Uriel lifted a precious object, the phantom of Crowley appeared as if summoned. Aziraphale uselessly pleaded at him with his mind to leave, to hide, to not expose him, but after all, Aziraphale had built the palace for him to dwell in.

"He's been consorting with the demon since the Garden." Uriel's voice was flat and uninterested. "But no actual evidence of a conspiracy. Nothing we can take to the Metatron. Just a remarkable amount of dinners."

"Try later in history," Gabriel said. "He's been down there a long time."

In the Fifth Millenium came the memories Aziraphale should have destroyed. The Arrangement. Lazily handing off inconvenient duties to a demon. Performing small temptations, condemning him further. It had seemed acceptable at the time, just balancing out work that would have been done anyway. Uriel turned over in her hand a gold goblet, that he sipped wine out of while Crowley asked him to persuade a nun, destined to be an Abbess, to elope.

_"It's not like you force them," Crowley said. "Just introduce them to the possibility. Allows them to demonstrate free will and prove their virtue. If they choose overwise, well, that's the system. Not your fault."_

_"I know when you're tempting me, serpent._ "

 _Crowley leaned closer. "Are you sure of that, angel?_ "

"That might be enough," Uriel said, then, for the first time, she hesitated. She put down the goblet and reached for a door behind it. The wood was carved with snakes and apples. The knob failed to turn in her hand. "Why is this door locked, Aziraphale? Memories so terrible even you won't let yourself remember?"

"Please. Leave it closed." Aziraphale didn't know why he protested, but he felt sharp fear at the thought of whatever lay behind that.

Gabriel's voice was like a whip. "Open it."

Uriel's unkind hands wrenched the door open, and his memories broke open as she stooped to pick up a sun-heated rock.

_A wind in the desert when the world was new-born, lips just as hot and dry pressed against his._

_Crowley pulled away in panic. "Sorry, Aziraphale. I didn't mean to. You just seemed alone. Don't smite—"_

_"Crowley. Don't go." His hands held tight to a black sleeve, and the demon turned back, the panic fading from his eyes and replaced with something else._

Uriel's lip curled with contempt. "No wonder he chose to forget it. Disgusting. What's this, fungus?"

_The first taste of truffles on his lips, an explosion of earthiness. These bodies, how could they carry so much pleasure?_

_Crowley leaning in, drunken and shining-eyed. "Angel, don't take this wrong, but when you look like that, I wonder how you would look with my lips wrapped around you."_

_His voice, shaking, determinedly courageous. "Shall we find out?"_

_Crowley stared at him with wide, uncertain eyes, and then fell forward, lips against his._

Aziraphale was shaking. "Gabriel, surely this is enough. You know my guilt."

"Examine them all, Uriel."

She sighed, disdainful and nauseated, and touched a silk pillow.

_Crowley bent over the edge of a bed, the line of his arching spine beautiful as he came on the cover, his cries turning abruptly to sobs._

_"Don't cry, my darling, my dear. Am I hurting you?" Aziraphale kissed the narrow shoulders._

_"It's not that. You'll forget this, you'll forget how you felt."_

_"I'll never forget this. I'll never forget how I feel about you, my precious love."_

Gabriel snorted. "Don't keep your promises very well, do you?"

In the real world, Aziraphale could feel the tears on his face, but most of his mind was in the palace, as Uriel held a black feather in her fingers.

_The gentle flicker of a forked tongue. Probing, licking inside him, obscenely intimate yet so delicate, as Crowley gathered up his spend on his own tongue._

_His voice, however, was more rough than tender. "There. Like I never fucked you. Happy?"_

_"My darling, why would that make me happy?"_

_A hiss of despair against his thigh._

"I almost feel sorry for the demon," Uriel said, in her detached way. "Good thing demons can't love."

Something in Aziraphale rebelled against that, and he nearly managed to force her hands out of the cabinet. She was still stronger than him. Her fingers curled around a lock of his hai, bound with silk.

_Hands carding through his curls, ragged breath and hot tears on his neck. "I can't keep doing this, Aziraphale, I say this every time, and I still do, every time. I keep hoping that this time you won't regret what we did and said, you won't be so fucking sensible and decide it's better and safer for us both to go back to how we were."_

_"I won't," Aziraphale said, despite the treacherous thought that Crowley was right. How could they keep each other safe? If Heaven knew they were lovers..._

_"I don't have to have sex with you. It was never that. But I just can't bear that when you change your mind, you forget how much I love you. Can't you forget just the fucking and hold onto my love, just once?"_

Aziraphale roared with pain. There was a wild flutter of feathers behind him, knocking Uriel sideways. The Light of Heaven shattered around him. And then he was free, and in the dark. Perhaps this was it at last, the inevitable Fall. Perhaps he was in Hell. Perhaps he was in the deepest Pit.

Perhaps he was a neo-gothic-industrial flat. He turned instinctively.

"Aziraphale, for Heaven's sake, what happened to you?" Crowley's chair went spinning as he lunged forward. "It's been weeks. I couldn't find you..."

Aziraphale let himself be snatched up, frightened arms clutching at him.

The door in his mind banged loose. How many times had he shut and locked it?

"You love me," Aziraphale said.

"What, me? Soft on an angel? Ridiculous." Crowley laughed shakily. "Of course I fucking love you. Don't ever scare me like that again."

"Crowley, I remember. I won't forget."

"You always—"

"There's nothing to fear now," Aziraphale said, and knew it. He had not chosen a destination, but he had escaped, and come home. Home to Crowley. Heaven could not hold him, could not hurt him. Not with thousands of years of patient love waiting for him.

He had been allowed to go. He felt God's presence for the first time since Eden, and She was smiling on him.

"I love you," Aziraphale said, "I love you."

There were tears soaking into his shoulder. Aziraphale had never felt less afraid in all his existence, as all the doors in his mind opened, and Crowley was in every room.

**Author's Note:**

> Promise I am focusing on my WiPs, guys, plus a return to my beloved Juri/Shiori of *Revolutionary Girl Utena*. But I finally got around to expanding and posting this one-shot from the Name That Author game on the Good Omens Event Server. I feel like this is a bit off-brand for me, but I wasn't being deliberately misleading--this is what my head did with the prompt.
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are my treasures. Come talk to me.


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